Requiem
by iwriteinblueink
Summary: Tetsuo watched Kaneda pop another capsule into his mouth, and Tetsuo hated him for it.
1. Chapter 1

Tetsuo watched Kaneda pop another capsule into his mouth, and Tetsuo hated him for it.

This was a feeling he was comfortable with. It brought the same kind of comfort as the only torn and filthy blanket he owned; the white one with faded sakura blossoms on it; the one he'd long since outgrown but still kept stuffed in a drawer beside his stained mattress. This feeling, this _hate,_ dripped slowly. It never rushed. It seeped between every laugh and every cracked smile. It whispered between every glance and flicker of movement. It pounded like a constant reminder between every roar of the motorcycle engine. This hate wasn't irrational; it lived eagerly beside Tetsuo's love.

There wasn't anything irrational about his anger, either. The way Kaneda's teeth chomped on the capsule, the way a sly smile spread across his smug face, the way it made Tetsuo's insides burn-all of it was real and raw. It spurred him on, yet it was so distant. As if it should belong to someone else, someone who could only feel the drained out, pure, aftermath of anger; the opposite of hate. Tetsuo felt everything. The intensity might have made his eyes sting. He also saw everything. Kaneda's face opened up to him without reservation. The gleam of his dark eyes. The fall of his curt, short black hair. The firm, adhesive press of his lips. The scorching red of his pants and the jacket draped over his shoulders, flush against his skin. The faded yellow shirt underneath was open at the collar, and the buttons loosened further down to reveal his chest.

Tetsuo's gaze flickered between Kaneda and the ground littered with garbage. He was sitting cross legged, leaning back against a creaking wooden post. Kaneda was lounging on a makeshift throne made of old tires, scraps of metal, and discarded mechanical parts. He popped the capsules from a plastic bag almost absent mindedly. Like candy, Tetsuo thought. Anything to keep the panic down. He swallowed, feeling his dry throat constrict even further. Everything tasted bitter. He could only sit there. And look on.

With a grimace, Tetsuo tore his gaze away. If only for a moment, he found some relief at observing their surroundings. Their motorcycles were parked in the shade of a ripped canvas awning, hastily erected to stave off the heat. It was eerily still. Not a dash of air. Not a cloud in the sky. This place had once been a courtyard. The cracked concrete fountain was covered in spray paint. Withered roots of what used to be verdant trees peeked from underneath the crushing weight of a collapsed apartment building. Rust seemed to leave its residue on everything. Here, at the ground level, the desecration of Neo-Tokyo was an experience that clung to the skin, that shoved its way inside the lungs. That clogged arteries, ripped and gouged and tore and bled until exhaustion was only a mercy, until knees meeting the ground was not a surrender, but merely the continuation of an empty existence.

It was funny, actually. Craning his neck to look up at the floors above and their sagging balconies, Tetsuo reflected on the fact that he still had hope. Suprising. It wasn't hope that kept him going, oh no. It was fear. Sheer terror. Terror that the rest of the building might crumble and crush him at any moment, like _right now,_ and if he wasn't attentive enough, quick enough- _good enough_ -he would die. Just die. And no one would give a damn. The dust would settle on some loser, while the sun would set and rise again. Neo-Tokyo would heave a sigh of relief and keep on breathing, continue to breed poverty and decadence, and rebuild itself on the bones of the nameless ones that came before.

Tetsuo had been given a name, though, he reminded himself. _I am Tetsuo._ He didn't remember his parents, didn't have to really. But he'd often imagined his mother as a gentle, soft woman always smelling of some sweet fragrance, always ready to give him comfort. He'd touched safety, once. It quivered inside him still, this long lost feeling. He'd often imagined his father as someone who spent years cultivating meticulous routines: white shirts, black ties, the 6:07 train, work, cola and a fried egg in the evenings on weekdays, pachinko on the weekends after he got paid. At night he played online video games and watched the news. His parents lived in an apartment just like this one, yes, on the thirteenth floor. It had a balcony at either end, two rooms, a portable butane stove. They kept a goldfish even though they wanted a dog, and they loved Tetsuo.

They loved him so much they'd given him away to an orphanage.

With nothing but his white blanket, clutched in his hands. Sobbing. Feeling loss crack him open. The fear overtaking him until he was shaking. And then, Kaneda. He hadn't always been a practitioner of duplicity. As a child, Tetsuo remembered him being wilful, but also endearing. He liked collecting racing stickers and kept them in an old cookie tin. Sometimes he would share cookies with Tetsuo. Other times it was his strength, or what passed for wisdom of the year's gap between them. A bandage. A hug. A smile. It felt a whole lot like safety.

Then came the recklessness. Kaneda had suggested spray painting the wall just across the headmaster's office. Tetsuo had agreed instantly, which continued to trouble him years later, but he'd accepted it anyway. Then Kaneda suggested simply taking what they wanted. Especially if they couldn't have it. What they'd wanted one murky spring afternoon was pastries. They'd snuck into the cafeteria, intent on taking packages of pastries, the kind of spongy cakes smothered in icing that Tetsuo's mother probably would have refused to buy, owing to the excessive sugar content. That afternoon Tetsuo picked up first one, then another, before putting both packages down to look at the energy drinks behind him; and then-when he hesitated, finding the whole thing suddenly unnerving-Kaneda had looked directly at the video camera before slipping a bottle into his jacket pocket and walking out of the cafeteria, with Tetsuo trailing behind him. They hadn't touched the cash register. They'd still gotten kicked out of the orphanage after that. It was alright, because they'd graduated into stealing motorcycles, and then they'd banded together with a bunch of other losers they kind of liked. No one else gave a damn. Yeah, it was alright. And it was the opposite of safety.

Tetsuo had lived without it for so long that it became like a collection of bones. Bones he rearranged into his skeleton as needed, anything to support him. Keep him together. Kaneda did that. Kaneda felt right. Kaneda made sense. Kaneda crackled with chaos, yet he was the closest thing Tetsuo had to safety. He needed him. Right here, right now. Always. He needed him to be alive, and well, and just _around_. Anything, anyone, that would take Kaneda away from him, well he'd fucking kill them in a heartbeat.

But this...Tetsuo dragged his gaze back to Kaneda. He was still popping those damn capsules. Blue on one end, white on the other. Small. Undeniable, offering denial. Too many of them. Readily available. Gathered in a plastic bag that hung limply from Kaneda's left hand. And he took, and took, and hadn't stopped for all the time they'd rested in the courtyard. Kaneda was destroying himself. Tetsuo recognized this, even if he didn't formulate it into a thought that could be used for or against either one of them.

It was maddeningly out of his control. He wanted to scream at Kaneda. Wanted to control him, to make him do the right thing. Instead, Tetsuo stood up. He loomed over Kaneda with his fists clenched. He tried to keep his cool even when Kaneda's looked up lazily, insolently.

"Want some?"

"No!"

Tetsuo glared at him for a moment longer. When Kaneda's face flushed and his eyebrows drew together in the beginnings of a scowl, Tetsuo stormed off towards their motorcycles. He hoped the snarl of the engine would cover up his concern. Kaneda would never give this up. Thinking of this, Tetsuo felt a familiar heaviness in his chest, a sadness that he sometimes thought was all the unused love he'd accumulated throughout the years turned to dust, settling layer upon layer until it had the density of stone.


	2. Chapter 2

During the night, away from the sizzling glow of neon and the constant rumble of traffic, Kaneda allowed himself to be embalmed with the lamplight of the moon. He could finally see it clearly. For the past two days the sky dumped copious amounts of rain. Mosquito larvae hatched in plastic pails, clothes refused to dry, mold encroached on bathrooms. His room felt more rickety and smaller than usual. Peeling drywall, which he tried to cover up with posters of bands and pretty girls that in truth were so generic he didn't notice them. A single lightbulb which teased him by working only when it felt like working. A preposterously large mattress, tethered to a splintering wooden headboard. One blue duvet, newly washed because the landlady secretly took a liking to Kaneda (for sure, no doubt about it!). The room smelled stale. Forgotten. Beer bottles were neatly stacked beside some magazines and some old book. It all looked as crooked as he felt. But it did have the saving grace of a window, with its view to the moon at night.

Kaneda had a lot of time and nowhere to go, although whenever he was in one of these low moods, he wanted to take Tetsuo with him, anywhere. This desire always intensified during the night.

Yeah, he had to take care of the gang too. They always wanted something from him. Some advice. Some favour. Hey Kaneda, the Clowns are beating us up. Hey Kaneda, my bike needs new tires. Hey Kaneda, I'm hurt. I'm lost. Help me. And he understood that, damn it. The world was a shit hole. Just yesterday he'd caught the news on the TV in the bar. More than the usual corrupt cops, there was something about a murder: I'll cut your head off and put it in a shopping bag, the bartender joked. Kaneda thought of the old woman that a university student had dismembered, stuffing the body parts into plastic sacks. Or a man who drove a truck into a store for used brand-name goods not far from here, or a politician who'd been caught in a scandalous affair. The kidnapping of a seven year old girl. The homeless in the subway, out of sight and out of mind in the guttural belly of the city. Unrest. Unemployment. No work. The heat. The sweat. The grime. Hey Kaneda, do you know what to do?

For Kaneda, the only thing comparable to the peace of gazing at the moon was his plastic bag of goodies. He always kept it underneath a loose floorboard, which his landlady would never suspect. Not even if she caught him with a sheen of sweat, mumbling incoherently, grinning foolishly. Numb. That feeling would come over him, almost forgotten, as if he were wandering around in darkness so complete he couldn't even see his hands, as if it were possible to be unmoored from his body. Horizons peeled away and reality itself seemed to disintegrate. When it reasserted itself, as it so often did, it was because Kaneda was concentrating on Tetsuo.

It honestly felt like happiness, whatever was between them. The happiness of two rogues scheming of ways to circumvent the nonsensical, excessive rules of the adult world, just the two of them. Together. The world was a shit hole. Together, maybe they could make the days brighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Haze smothered the city. All afternoon and well into the evening there had been warnings to stay inside because of the yellow dust that had traveled across the sea, filled with particles of dangerous chemicals. The news reports had recommended wearing masks; they had cautioned against doing strenuous exercise outside. Tetsuo-surly, defensive, suspicious-was leaning against his motorcycle with his arms crossed. Kaneda crouched beside his own, examining some newest scratch, a sharp scowl clouding his face.

"Son of a bitch," he snarled finally.

"What's the matter Kaneda?" Tetsuo's lips curled into a mocking smile.

"Nothing." He straightened and glared at Tetsuo. "The Clowns will be here soon. Get ready."

Tetsuo and Kaneda were waiting in the shadow of an overpass. The concrete was beaten, cracked, baked by the stifling heat. The two lane highway stretched out before them. Just past the metallic, ominous outskirts of Neo-Tokyo, the road here scraped through blowing sand and faded road markings. Discarded remnants from every walk of dreary life littered around each bend. The reach of the city seemed to be halted by the thick, imposing columns of concrete that had once supported another section of the highway. It had long since crumbled, leaving a gap between one end and the other; in between, there was nothing but a plummet into garbage.

The cloudless sky covered everything in a pale sheen. Focus was disrupted by shimmering waves, choking particles coated the lungs, and sweat gathered on leather garments. Tetsuo's fraying white t-shirt clung damply to his chest. His hands were broiling within his black gloves, as were his feet, encased in hard black boots. He wiped dripping sweat from his eyes and adjusted his goggles. His motorcycle shuddered to life beneath him. It was a mean construction of steel, carbon, and chipped gold paint. It's wide handlebars allowed for swift, deep cornering, and the positioning of the seat ensured he was always hunched over viciously.

Tetsuo surreptitiously glanced at Kaneda, who had shrugged on his red jacket and eased onto his motorcycle. It had a long, low windscreen, a recliner-style seat, and pulled-back bars that met Kaneda's hands back near his body. It was completely clad in vibrant red bodywork, and various decals. A pang of jealousy was followed by a rush of quiet resentment. Tetsuo's engine growled to life.

In the distance, the drone of motorcycles drifted towards them. Three Clowns arrived trailing foul smoke; their bikes were the only ones that still used fuel. They were relics from a past Neo-Tokyo had done its best to bury, awkward, crude, primal fusions of metal, wiring which spilled like guts to wrap around long exhaust pipes. The Clowns faces were smeared with bone-white paint, and streaked with red, or green, or yellow. Their beaten half-helmets glistened malevolently.

"Just in case you losers forgot," Kaneda shouted over the roar of the engines, "we're racing to the highway gap. Whoever makes it across gets to kiss my ass!"

Tetsuo shot a grin at one of the Clowns and sped past him. The highway was flat. Ruthlessly flat. Disquieted by growling, the ripping through of bristling air, the eruption of movement. Forward. Swiftly. Then came a curve. It was almost lethal, the way Tetsuo brushed against the side of a Clown's motorcycle, nudging him carelessly into an uncontrollable swerve. Not even the reflex of braking saved him from careening and slamming into the crumbling concrete barricade.

With a snarl locked behind his teeth, Tetsuo gunned the engine and hunched low. He approached Kaneda's motorcycle. Focused intently on the smear of red that mixed with the sweat dripping into his eyes. Willing his motorcycle to catch up, to overtake, even. Faster, faster, faster. The pressure of tires. The line flickering dangerously into the red. The heat. The fumes. The aching of his muscles.

The glare of merciless sunlight thrown by a helmet nearly blinded Tetsuo as he passed another Clown, cutting him off with a discourteous lean. The yawning gap in the highway greeted them, like a gruesome, crooked grin which gleefully split the flat stretch of pavement. Kaneda's motorcycle skimmed the makeshift ramp and seemed to be suspended in the yellow blistering haze before it slammed onto the other side. It settled into a skid, then Kaneda tamed it into a halt.

Tetsuo lurched his motorcycle in line with the ramp. His throat constricted and his heart felt like it would tear into pieces, like its strings were chained to his engine and the breakneck RPMs would spin it out of control. He followed in Kaneda's wake, hell the rush of it was incredible, but instead of launching himself properly off the ramp, Tetsuo felt the front wheel of a Clown's motorcycle slam into the back of his. The speed and force pitched him forward, hurled him unceremoniously from the seat, spat him into the air; for a bewildering moment, time froze. Tetsuo saw the Clown clear the gap, saw Kaneda's shocked face, felt his own body twist in a futile effort to adjust his fall, and then simply released a scream that seemed to shatter his lungs.

It wasn't so much the impact that _hurt._ Sure, his motorcycle plummeted into a heap of scrap metal, rubber, trash, and rust; sure, he joined it shortly after with a sharp crack in his shoulder and a howl of pain, clattering amongst the refuse, broiling in the sun, the foul stench suffocating him. It wasn't the lancing pain, spreading rapidly, leaking his tears out, and setting his teeth on edge-it was the low, heavy feeling in his gut. The rising bile in the back of his throat. The slow churning of his thoughts, already balanced precariously, peering deeper into the oily darkness, teetering over some arbitrary line.

Eventually, Kaneda's motorcycle blazed into view. Tetsuo's vision swam. He struggled to focus. Kaneda crouched next to him and rummaged through the garbage. He hauled Tetsuo by the arms, ceasing at his cry of pain. Kaneda leaned in to support Tetsuo's weight, wrapping his good arm around his own shoulders, rising them tentatively together. They made for the motorcycle.

"Guess you don't have to kiss my ass." Kaneda said, panting. Tetsuo glared at him, leaning heavily into his arms. His lips twitched at Kaneda's wolfish grin, but he kept his gaze stoically fixed on the horizon. The sun was dragging itself through the sky like a wounded animal, bleeding out in fiery drops that would soon drag light into penumbra. Kaneda shaded his eyes with a gloved hand. He cocked his head to the side.

"Did you know that pollution actually makes sunsets more beautiful? All the aerosols floating around, refracting light."

"How do you know that?"

Kaneda shrugged.

"Smartass." Tetsuo muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sensitive._

Kaneda stole lingering glances at Tetsuo while they cleaned their motorcycles. Sopping sponges dangled from their hands, splattering chalky coloured water on the cracked pavement. They were tucked into the alley where the gang's favourite watering hole was. The flickering neon sign cast long shadows. Kaneda noticed as Tetsuo polished that he had come to favour his left side more; his shoulder had healed a while ago, but his movements still radiated pathos.

 _Sensitive._

It was in the tilt of Tetsuo's head as he listened to the obnoxious laughter of others. It was the intense gleam in his eyes while he lingered on the fringes, observing. It was the delicate fall of his hair and the tautness of his muscles as he slipped in and out of his motorcycle gear. It was the way he seethed, the way he set his jaw, the way he always hurled right back into Kaneda with an indelible attraction. Tetsuo was watching Kaneda now with a carefully blank expression. If only he would smile; give a wink or a shrug even, as if to say, "We'll be fine. That's a promise."

 _Sensitive._

A breeze came through the alley, carrying with it a tacit agreement. Kaneda would have let himself crawl toward Tetsuo if only the moment had not been so silent and fleeting. Instead, he walked over with dignity keeping his spine straight and the hot pulsing of his veins propelling him into motion, direction that kept his knees from shaking. Tetsuo looked up as Kaneda's shadow fell on him. Kaneda held his gaze. A slow sneer started to gather on Tetsuo's lips. But he suppressed it as soon as Kaneda let his fingers brush the crown of Tetsuo's head. The thrill of igniting an engine paled in comparison to the shock of this contact.

"What do you want?"

"A moment.

Tetsuo stood up. Looked Kaneda dead in the eye. Didn't flinch, not when Kaneda firmly placed his hands on Tetsuo's shoulders. Not when Kaneda's eyes pierced and held him still; demanding allegiance, craving the sensitive warmth of his touch. Tetsuo didn't shy away. Not even when Kaneda leaned in close. So close that he could kiss Tetsuo on the cheek, on the neck, on the lips if he wanted to. His breath hung warm and moist between them. Kaneda felt himself caught in a kind of paralysis. Minute vibrations cobwebbed the air and crawled over his skin. And suddenly Kaneda realized that he wanted to kiss Tetsuo, that it seemed as if he'd been waiting his whole life just for this moment, the rapture of it.

 _This_ moment, to be found, then lost, then found again. 


	5. Chapter 5

A glow in Kaneda's room cast his body in an ephemeral, eerie aura. They were sitting on the edge of his mattress. Tetsuo would rather look at him and listen to his quiet snickering than have to face the dirge unraveling from the TV; the news was cluttered with family suicides, the kidnapping of wealthy children, the burgeoning number of homeless, serial burglaries, an unemployed mother jumping from an apartment window from which she had just thrown out her young children; death and misery forever entwined in a grotesque dance. It made Tetsuo's stomach churn. He narrowed his eyes as Kaneda reached for more of the capsules scattered behind him. Before he could swallow another one, Tetsuo seized his hand.

Kaneda stirred. His glassy eyes settled on Tetsuo and a lazy, sly grin stretched across his face. "What?" he asked distantly.

"We need to eat."

Tetsuo let Kaneda's hand flop back down, then he swept away the capsules. They scattered around the room, pattering on the floorboards and rolling into darkened corners. Kaneda lunged for one little blue capsule, dropping to his knees, frantically groping around for it. Tetsuo viciously crushed it beneath his heel. He laughed in Kaneda's face; he stumbled forward, but Tetsuo roughly shoved him onto the mattress and left him to sulk.

The kitchenette was ugly. Splintering wood and a hard grey surface. But it worked. Tetsuo scavenged a pan. Some salt hiding in a cupboard. Turned on the stove. Then turned to the compact fridge. The girls in the gang had really done their shopping, so there was enough food to make a decent meal. Tetsuo ignored Kaneda's groans and subdued swearing drifting from the other room. He briefly lost himself in the act of cooking, which produced steamed rice and two fried pieces of cod, along with tofu and soy sauce.

While they ate, Tetsuo noticed a look in Kaneda's eyes that he suddenly recognized. It broke through the haze quickly enough to send chills down his spine. It was the same brazen challenge that he cast out towards others, a challenge that suggested he not only dared those watching to interrupt him, criticize him, challenge him in turn, but that he would relish it. And now, seeing this look on Kaneda's stupid face, Tetsuo recognized what he hadn't before: the determination of someone on the path of self-destruction. There was that grimness, that same intensity that came with invincibility once the ending was dealt and known.

It was such a strange feeling, to know that time was passing without consent. Kaneda's room-Kaneda himself-was like a mausoleum. Harbouring decaying dreams. Derelict hopes. Quiet wrath and personal wounds that seemed separate from the ordinary concerns of life, such as eating. Tetsuo settled into a mood of mourning. He wasn't exactly sure what he mourned the most, but the weight and scope of his abrupt loss left him breathless.

And lost.


	6. Chapter 6

The killing fields of Tetsuo's mind rendered him merciless, and at the mercy of intricate, devastating impulses carried on the tides of his pulsating thoughts. Sometimes it was like if he didn't control his thoughts, he could project them _out there_ and the results would surely be devastating. Other times he was disgusted by his own fanciful thinking; nothing he did made any difference whatsoever _out there._

Except Kaneda always reacted to Tetsuo.

Maybe they shared defiance. It was dangerous to dream in a time and place that so passionately discouraged dreaming, but they did it anyway. They bridged the disconnect between having a name with a face that didn't match. They learned early. Kaneda had insisted on watching the glorious sun rise. Together. Driving to the highest point around, which happened to be a partially constructed apartment building.

They were resting on the terrace, leaning insolently against the untested railing. The sunlight began to spread across white concrete, colouring it with divinity. Tendrils of warmth wrapped themselves around metal skeletons, slithered around corners, dodged shadows. Liquid gold dripped carelessly through the branches of a few trees surrounded by patches of dark earth, lonely islands of nature surrounded by rigid constructs. The sun ascended confidently, shining ever brighter and stronger. Undeterred. Hopeful. Vibrant.

Maybe all relationships began like a sunrise.

Tetsuo allowed this thought to blossom. He risked a glance to his left. He hesitantly rested his hand on the railing. Kaneda smirked, still staring ahead, and stretched his little finger across the distance between them. He hooked his little finger around Tetsuo's. Then they slowly and firmly interlocked the rest. Tetsuo's heart swelled and he felt a swoop in his stomach. He squeezed Kaneda's hand tighter. The silence was wonderful. It kept going, trailing the sun. Until Tetsuo broke it with a tremor in his voice.

"I don't know what I'm searching for."

"No one knows what they're searching for," said Kaneda softly. "You're gonna be fine."

For a while longer, they stood just like that. Holding hands. Enveloped by silence. Tetsuo remained silent all the way back to Kaneda's motorcycle. Although he had the distinct feeling that Kaneda was trying really hard to tell him something; he didn't really care enough to ask and even if he did, who knows what Kaneda would have told him. Slender, timid words probably. There was nothing left to say.

This silence was meant to be coveted. Tetsuo let his thoughts roam freely, adding their cacophony to the motorcycle's rasping. He clambered on behind Kaneda. Tightened his hands around his waist. Leaned with him gladly through sharp turns and felt enthralled as if Kaneda was some kind of comet. Tetsuo was only dragged along for the ride. He thought so anyway; but maybe it wouldn't be like this forever. A bleached, ghostly, uncertain future was stretching out before them.

And Tetsuo believed, on a level deeper than instinct, that someday they were gonna be fine.


End file.
